


Sentiment

by Vesker



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesker/pseuds/Vesker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short AU Oneshot. Prompt: Sentiment. | Two weeks ago, Pip fell from Heaven, landed face first in Hell and despite a rushed fling with the Prince of Hell, is trying to get back. Damien muddles through his feelings about this. Passive-aggressively.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentiment

Damien stirred beneath the sheets of his bed, not liking the idea of getting up. It was _the_ day. The counsel was finally ready. Today, Pip, who fell from Above nearly a fortnight ago, would put forth his case to see if he could get back into Heaven. And the Prince of Darkness really did not want the day to start. He could feel the form of the angel beside him, breathing softly, evenly. Still asleep, though he wasn’t surprised by that... It had taken the boy hours to actually fall asleep thanks to his nerves. Slowly, he turned, lightly lifting the sheets to peer under them. Pip had his back to him, completely curled up on himself. Wings covering his limbs like a white protective shell.

He resisted the urge to reach out and stroke fingers down the curve of his back, though only just. That strip of flesh that ran between the joints of his wings had become his favourite place upon the angel’s body. It was marred now, with claw marks and other lesions. Some were white, already healed scars. Others were red, recent wounds. They must sting awfully... But Pip never complained.

Sighing, Damien let the sheets drop back down and rolled onto his own back, looking up at the ceiling of his bedchamber. He could hear creatures outside, things stirring in the walls as everyone got ready to start the day. The palace would be buzzing with the usual throng of activity in no time. And undoubtedly, the sounds of screams would become apparent across the horizon as the torture machines began to grind.

“...Damien?”

The voice was quiet, reluctant. He hadn’t even realised Pip had woken. Damien opened his mouth to reply and lost heart in the idea, instead settling on a non-committal grunt. He felt the body next to him twitch a little at the noise and felt a surge of guilt. He wasn’t angry at Pip, not really. Or rather he _was_ , but also very aware that he shouldn’t be. The angel had every right to ask to go home, no matter how much he wanted to keep him here. The boy beside him uncurled and rose, stretching thin arms up to the ceiling and shaking out his wings, a few loose feathers falling lazily onto the pillows. Once satisfied, he settled, arms loosely held in his lap, gathering his thoughts. After a moment, Pip spoke again.

“...I was wondering, if it wasn’t too much trouble, if I could get a bath this morning?”

“Feel the need to free yourself of my taint, do you, pure one?”

Damien knew he shouldn’t have said the words as soon as they were out of his mouth and the way Pip flinched and cast his gaze downward only pushed that point more. Irritated, he gritted his teeth and sat up, freeing himself of the covers and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. With a sigh he rubbed hands over his face and up into his hair, resting elbow upon knee and holding his head. It was mere seconds before a hand reached his shoulder, gently squeezing in that manner that was so tender and so reassuring. That was Pip for you. His heart _was_ pure. And Damien found that he hated that fact almost as much as he loved it.

“I am sore and would like a hot bath for my aches. ...And I wouldn’t mind looking presentable, for my trial.”

The angel hadn’t wanted to add that onto the end, but he wasn’t about to lie. It had nothing to do with Damien and any taint of his though; he was simply coated in filth. The air in Hell was thick with ash and dust at the best of times, and nightly excursions with Damien led to him being... A little worse off for wear. He could feel the stiffness in his wings where the feathers had become clogged with dried blood – his own, courtesy of Damien’s claws – and really could use a clean. Besides, Damien had already left his mark upon him in ways that could not be washed off with a little hot water. His body was covered in scars from both tooth and claw for a start. And his wings had been stained from the occasional spilling of Damien’s own blood. Maybe it was because he was Hellish royalty, or maybe it was for some other reason, but the feathers touched by the fluid had been stained dark ever since. No amount of washing had done anything to remove it.

Pip shifted a little closer, sitting behind Damien and leaning forwards, lightly resting his forehead in the dip between the demon’s shoulder blades. He couldn’t muster any words of comfort, didn’t know what would be best to say to make things better. He had spent the last week in a whirlwind of confusing and conflicting thoughts and feelings. He was utterly exhausted. A part of him was a little sad that Damien couldn’t at least pretend to be happy for him and wish him luck. Another part of him didn’t want to leave Hell at all. One part missed his friends from Above, missed the life up there. Yet another wanted to stay at Damien’s side and knew that the Prince would be just as missed if he left.

“...Damien? Don’t be silent, please. Don’t be so cold, I can’t stand it.”

Saying nothing, Damien detached himself from the angel and stood, stepping away from the bed. He didn’t dare look at Pip’s face for fear of the emotion that might be contained within it, but he couldn’t help but see the boy’s hand reach out for him, waver and drop back to the bed. There was plenty he _wanted_ to say. Things he _couldn’t_ say. He was the son of Satan, he was supposed to be cold and cruel and horrid and harsh. He was not supposed to spout loving words and give gentle caresses and hold affection for anyone. Especially not someone as golden as Pip. Such a divine creature was not meant for the likes of him.

So why did he love him so desperately? Why had he spent _years_ at that looking-glass, watching the boy grow up on Earth? Why had his heart leapt when Pip had been shown good fortune and why had his heart felt wounded when he had found fondness for that cruel girl? Why had he been so glad when they went separate ways, practically celebrated the fact? Pip was so important to him, so necessary. He had waited and waited and _waited_ and now he was here... And soon he would be going. What was he supposed to say to that? All the sorts of things his position said he shouldn’t ever say.

“Go and have your bath. It’ll be better that you don’t stink like demon when you go up in front of the council anyway.”

A few strained, silent seconds stretched on before there was shifting behind him and the sound of two bare feet meeting the floor, shortly followed by a shuffle of wings, a patter of footsteps and the creak of the door, signalling the angel’s departure from the room. Damien released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He didn’t mean to be so bitter, but it was sort of in his nature. A wounded creature always reacts with aggression. It was simply self-preservation.

But what was there to preserve? What was he without Pip? Pip was all that was light and goodness and he was all that was dark and evil. Didn’t bad need good to balance it? Like his father needed God, didn’t he need Pip? Damien grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands. In all his years he had never felt so lost and confused. And what was he supposed to do about it? He could hardly consult his father; that man had enough trouble with his own relationships to give him any good advice on the subject. Who did he have to turn to? The Lord Almighty? _Not likely._ He had no-one and he was alone. He was destined to be alone for eternity.

_If you love them, let them go_. Something he had never understood. If you loved someone, didn’t you strive to keep them close? Especially in a situation like this, where you knew the chances of them ever returning where low enough to be struck off. Perhaps he was selfish. Hell, he _knew_ he was selfish. It sort of came with the territory. Selfish and angry and jealous.

And hopelessly head over heels for a perfect specimen of God’s children.


End file.
